


Christmukkah

by TheNinth



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-20
Updated: 2006-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-05 09:36:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNinth/pseuds/TheNinth





	Christmukkah

**December 1st, 2006**

House stood in front of Woolworks and wondered what he was doing there.  "I've been abducted by aliens", he muttered. "They've plucked me from my warm and comfortable office and dropped me in the courtyard of the Princeton Shopping Center, in the rain. At least they had the decency to skip the anal probe".

Wilson stepped up behind him and clapped a hand on his shoulder.  "I'd never probe you without buying you dinner first".

 

House glared and shrugged Wilson's hand away.  Wilson's cheeks were pink and tiny drops of water weighed his hair down, pulling it toward his eyes. This was not the kind of day to spend standing around outside.  It was _never_ the kind of day to spend  
shopping. Unless you were Wilson, who was bright-eyed and grinning manically.  He clapped his hands together in a "let's get down to business" gesture and looked at House again. "Shall we get started"?

"Oh. Please. I'd like nothing better than to watch you shop for your Nana's Hanukkah present".  He pronounced "hanukkah" with an excess of phlegm and force. It sounded like he was being choked. 

Wilson imagined House choking and smiled slightly. "Must be true, since you're standing here".

"I'm standing here," House corrected, "because there's nowhere to _sit down_".  He looked around the courtyard. "Nowhere dry, at least.  And you promised you'd buy me lunch".

Wilson could not be brought down by House's mood. He shrugged one shoulder as if to say "Fine, stand out here in the rain if you want" and opened the door to the shop.  House followed close behind, just glad to be out of the weather.

The shop smelled of cotton, wool, wood shavings, and the underlying tinge of something metallic.  House assumed it was from the knitting needles or the clay beads or possibly some toxin in the air that was leaking from the vast amounts of dyed yarn.  "How many carcinogens do you think are floating around in here, anyhow"? He asked Wilson as he limped along behind him.

Wilson ignored him, opting to focus his attention on the acres of yarn in baskets along the walls.  He picked up skeins, examined the colour and texture and gave them as much attention as he would have given to a patient or to choosing just the right tomato.  House reckoned that Wilson should start putting that much attention into choosing his wives and girlfriends.

"So Nana Wilson likes to knit". House said as a way of making conversation. Well, noise. The soft Muzak being piped into the store was grating his nerves. 

"Nana Wilson likes to play bingo and go to Branson," Wilson said as he compared the weight and texture of two lumps of grey yarn.  "Nana Leder, on the other hand, knits like a house on fire".

"Ahh, two grandmothers. Very sneaky, Doctor Wilson".

"House, many people have two grandmothers. Some have more than two".

"And others may not have any by the time they reach your age. That's all I was saying". House grabbed a ball of yarn from Wilson and frowned at it.  "What colour do you call this, anyhow? Bile"?

Wilson snatched it back and glanced around the store to see if anyone overheard.  "It's just a shade of yellow. Will you please keep your voice down"?  He cringed. He knew that was the wrong thing to say.

"What's the matter, Jimmy? Your little shoplifting habit hasn't flared up again, has it"?  House's voice boomed out and reverberated in the nearly empty shop. The two women at the counter looked up; one headed their way.

"I hate you so much" Wilson hissed through his smile and greeted the woman with a pleasant hello. Her eyes darted up and down Wilson's body, first checking to see if there were signs of wool being smuggled anywhere about his person.  The second pass was one of appreciation.  House noticed and snorted.  Wilson noticed and blushed. "I'm looking for some yarn for my grandmother, for her Hanukkah gift. I need ..."

Wilson's voice faded out as House wandered toward the back of the store. There were chairs back there. Comfortable chairs. And coffee. He could smell the coffee. It called out to him and made his blood sing. House amused himself by trying to think of other poetic  
metaphors involving coffee while Wilson chatted with the saleswoman.  He wondered if Wilson only dated younger women, because this lady really had her eye on him. She was giving him the full flirt. Eye contact, casual, playful touches, and little flips of her hair. 

_Too bad she's at least fifty. I don't think Wilson goes for the mother-types._

Thankfully Wilson didn't take long.  He hurried from the store with House struggling to keep up.  "Jimmy, hey!  Some of us are crippled, you know".

"Sorry, House. Sorry. She was just a little too attentive, you know?  It was creeping me out".  He clutched the handle of the plastic bag of yarn.  "Come on. Lunch at the Main Street Euro-American Bistro and Bar-a-rama"? Wilson asked, already knowing the answer.

"She thought you were my dad", Wilson said as he held the door to the restaurant open for House.  House whacked him in the shin with his cane.

* * *

**December 14th, 2006**

Another day, another mall. At least this one was inside and there were places to sit, if you could manage to work your way between gaggles of high school girls and weary mothers with toddlers and too many packages to get to the benches.  He sat down on one and stuck his right leg out into traffic, holding his cane at an angle so it was harder to spot.  He hoped someone would trip.

An old man in a porkpie hat and a tee-shirt and vest combination that made House think of Norton on the Honeymooners sat down next to him.  He smelled like muscle ointment.  The smell was simultaneously comforting and nauseating, especially combined with the wafts of perfume coming from the kiosk nearby.

"Feh", said the old man.

"Mmh", House replied.

They watched the people swarm by.  House looked at his watch and wondered where Wilson had gone.  They watched more people, both of them turning their heads to appreciate a blonde twenty-year-old in a short skirt.

"Well, bye", House said to the old man.  House stood and started to walk away.

The old man looked up at him and pointed. "You don't appreciate him. You take advantage.  He's not going to put up with it forever, you know."

"What"?  House turned looked at the old man. He wanted to ask him what that meant, but a crowd flowed past, blocking his progress.  By the time it thinned, the man was gone.

House found Wilson at guest services, having his purchases wrapped.  Together, they found the food court.

Wilson shoved the overflowing bag under the table and grinned.  House wanted to slap that smirk off his face.  "Did you buy anything"? Wilson asked as he unwrapped his cheeseburger.

"I got this for Cuddy".  House handed over a plastic bag with something roughly the size and shape of a street sign in it.

Wilson slipped it from the bag and stared at it.  "'Welcome to our L.  Please notice there's no poo in it. Please keep it that way'. Oh that's classy, House.  You know she doesn't even have a pool, right"?

House tucked it back in the bag and put it down next to his tray, then he reached over and started eating Wilson's fries.  "It's the thought that counts".

* * *

**December 23rd, 2006**

Hanukkah had ended the previous day. Christmas had not yet arrived.  They usually tried to open their gifts between the two holidays and House always took it personally when the two dates happened to coincide. He called it "The Great Jew Conspiracy" because it made Wilson roll his eyes and throw his hands up in defeat. Or disgust.  Or both.  It didn't matter, really. House enjoyed  
it either way.

House and Wilson sat side-by-side on House's couch.  Wilson had brought him a tiny silver tree in a flowerpot.  He parked it on the coffee table and stuck a miniature Star of David on the top, then poured two glasses of Mare Nectaris Estate red wine, even though he knew House wouldn't know the name or appreciate the vintage.

"What'd you end up getting your staff"? Wilson asked as he spread brie on a cracker and leaned back, his drink in one hand and snack in the other.

"I copped out. Chase got an air gun that shoots table tennis balls. Foreman got a little racquet".

Wilson nodded approvingly and sipped his wine.  "What about Cameron"?

"Scorecard".

"Cuddy"?

"I'm taking two week's vacation. I figure the best gift I can give is the lack of my presence".

"Speaking of presents... so to speak..."  Wilson put down his glass and felt around the side of the sofa looking for the wrapped package he'd stashed earlier.  He held out a rectangular box, neatly wrapped in silver paper and tied with blue ribbon.

House inspected the box carefully, as if it might explode at any moment.  "Hmm, uneven edges. Ribbon's curled backwards on this side. Some of your hair's caught under the tape here... but overall, I give you a B plus, Wilson. Good job".  He handed the box back.

"Knock it off and open it, House".

"Scrooge", House grumbled, but tore into the paper.  He lifted the top from the box and folded back the tissue paper.  The sweater in the box looked suspiciously like the yarn that Wilson had bought for his Nana.  House squinted.  "Something tells me that Nana isn't the only Wilson that knits".

"Leder," said Wilson, "and she made it.  She used the yarn I sent her to make that for you. Well, not _for_ you. She made it for me to give to you".  He paused and took another sip of wine.  "Might not have done it if she'd known it was for you".

"Ha-ha".  House handed Wilson a small, heavy package. It was expertly wrapped. Each fold was precise. All the edges were perfectly aligned.  Each piece of tape was spotless, exactly the same length, and positioned evenly.  House looked smug.

Wilson unwrapped the package.  Inside, in a nest of tissue paper and bubble wrap was a heavy picture frame. The photograph was House and Wilson, taken years earlier at some charity event at the hospital.  They were standing with their arms around each other, mugging for the camera. Taped to the photo, under the glass in the frame, was a small strip of paper. It read "I am lost without  
my Boswell." in House's tight, tiny lettering.

Wilson looked up at House. "House... I... I don't know what to say. Thank you".

House grunted and flipped through channels, sneering at each Christmas special that flickered past.  "There's something else in there".

Wilson lifted the bubblewrap and tissue paper and looked into the box.  "Welcome to our L", he said.  "Classy".


End file.
